


ZAP!

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bukkake, Crack, M/M, Multi, Object Insertion, Orgy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: Misfire has one too many energy drinks.





	ZAP!

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a trade with cresnoir and robo-hunter-chaim on Tumblr. They each draw a picture, and I write a fic to the pictures.
> 
> This fic is based on cresnoir's picture: [VERY NSFW](http://cresnoir.tumblr.com/post/159672930954/my-part-of-collab-with-robo-hunter-chaim-and)

Krok exvented, arms folded and head shaking. “This was a bad idea.” He paused, then looked to Fulcrum with narrowed optics. “I thought I told you to clean out the energon supplies?”

Fulcrum swallowed, torn from the view playing out in front of him. “Well, there was an error with the WAP’s engine and I figured I’d tend to it real quick then come back,” he explained. “When I realized it was gonna take a while, I asked if Crankcase could take over.”

Krok and Fulcrum looked to Crankcase. Crankcase snorted. “I didn’t want to,” he said bluntly, “so I told Spinister to do it.”

Three pairs of eyes turned on Spinister. Spinister was still watching the rambunctious scene, giddy and excited. Crankcase elbowed him roughly in the side; he jumped, turning to his three comrades. “… I didn’t do it?” he said. Honestly, he hadn’t been paying attention to them.

“Obviously not,” Krok grumbled. “Crankcase asked you to clean out the energon supply,” he said, waving inside the room. “Why didn’t you?”

“I hurt my finger,” Spinister confessed. “Had to repair it. But I got Grimlock to do it.”

Fulcrum, Crankcase, and Krok simultaneously slapped their hands to their foreheads. “And Grimlock was with Misfire,” Krok exvented.

So that explained everything. Why Misfire and Grimlock were currently squealing and pounding down energy drinks. The enemy’s ship they’d discovered had more than energon packed away. Instead, it was loaded with two giant crates of the most powerful energy drink on Cybertron: Kremzeek Zap Energy. The drink was so strong that it was outlawed in four city-states until health code violations stopped production all together.

Seemed the previous owners of the ship had gotten their hands on some that hadn’t been destroyed. Or just made really good bootlegs, smuggling them across the vast universe.

One of the crates was completely demolished, all the drinks emptied. Bottles and cans laid haphazardly across the floor in sparse puddles. Grimlock had drank most of the first load, but he was not nearly as hyperactive as Misfire. Misfire, who was shot-gunning two cans while hanging from the ceiling.

“What a disaster,” Krok groaned, rubbing his face.

Misfire just now noticed his comrades watching him. “Hey, y'all! G-Great day!” he cheered. He finished his cans and threw them at Grimlock. With a roar, Grimlock batted them away with his giant tail. The cans flew toward the group; Crankcase ducked just in time, but Fulcrum wasn’t so lucky. A can hit him square in the face, knocking him over. Spinister laughed.

Krok walked into the room, over a dozen cans. “Misfire,” he said calmly, raising his hands, “you’ve had enough. Come down from the ceiling, nice and slowly.”

Misfire crashed on the ground.

Krok sighed. He helped Misfire up while Crankcase went to calm Grimlock down. It ended with the visored Decepticon angrily trying to yank a sputtering can from Grimlock’s maw in a game of tug-o-war. Krok guided the bouncing, giggling Misfire over to Spinister. “Scan him,” he ordered, “see if his spark’s still got time before it burns out.”

Spinister equipped his medical scanner. When Misfire wouldn’t stop twitching, he placed a hand on his shoulder and held him in place. The scan went quick. “Spark’s going too fast, but he’ll be okay once he gets some plain energon and a little rest,” he explained. “Come down’s gonna suck, though.” He turned to Fulcrum, pointing at his maskplate. “Looooots of puke.”

Fulcrum winced. “Good thing he’ll be spending the rest of the day in the medbay then.”

Spinister stared.

“… Right?”

“Let’s get him and Misfire to the medbay then,” Krok said. He glanced back, just in time to see Grimlock dunk Crankcase into the empty crate. “Spin,” he murmured, “you take care of Grimlock. And now Crankcase.”

“Hey!” Misfire shouted right into Krok’s audiol, hard enough to dislodge the Decepticon from his side. “Hey!” He clapped and rubbed his hands together. “I wanna ‘face! Who wants to 'face!?”

“You’re on an energy high,” Fulcrum scowled, “interfacing might snuff your spark. Or give us contact jitters.”

“I wanna frag, though! I’m ready!” Misfire flopped onto hands and knees, presenting his rear. “I’m rrrrready!”

Krok and Fulcrum pulled Misfire back up. “You go get fixed up in the medbay and then we’ll interface,” Krok said.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Y'all gotta do it then! And I mean _y'all_!” Misfire insisted, pointing to all of his comrades, even himself. “Otherwise I’m gonna cry. You remember the last time I cried? I sprung a leak!”

Spinister appeared with an unconscious Grimlock in his arms, and a sore Crankcase on his back. “Did he spring a leak? Did I miss it?” Spinister looked curiously on the ground for any puddles.

Krok sighed for the umpteenth time. “I just promised Misfire if he settles down from his high, later we’ll all interface with him,” he explained.

Misfire yanked himself free, going back on hands and knees. “Hell yeah, let’s do it!”

Krok just… sighed some more.

—

Ten hours, four cubes of plain energon, one drip of medicinal solution, and four dumped buckets of puke later, Misfire woke and sat up on the med-slab. He picked at the IV attached to a fuel pump along his neck. “I’m feelin’ better now,” he said, “we gonna frag?”

Spinister glanced up from his datapads. “Huh?”

“Readin’ those upside down, buddy.”

“Oh.” Spinister turned the pads upright. Then he repeated: “Huh?”

“Hoho, you guys thought I’d forget, dinnitcha?” Misfire snickered, yanking out the IV. He shrieked at the quick but piercing pain.

“Dunno why people do that,” Spinister mumbled over his squealing patient.

Misfire calmed down quickly. “Y-Yeah. Krok promised we’d all interface after I came down from my energy high,” he explained. He looked to Grimlock sitting on the berth beside him. “Ain’t that right, Grim?”

Grimlock puked.

“He’s still comin’ down,” Spinister stated.

Misfire snorted. “Well, whatever. Call the others in, while the mood’s still good.” He stretched back on the slab, folding arms beneath his head. Grimlock continued vomiting into the bucket held right to his face. Misfire was not going to let those gut-wrenching sounds (and smell) bring him down.

Spinister shrugged. He commed Krok, Crankcase, and Fulcrum. Krok arrived first, followed by Fulcrum. “How are you doing, Misfire?” Krok asked. “You look better. Not so… insane.”

“Ridin’ the wave, my man,” Misfire swooned, making a weird hand sign Krok did not recognize. No one did, actually.

“I was worried you were gonna die,” Fulcrum snorted. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“He wasn’t thinking.”

Misfire winked and shot finger guns at Krok (true to his name, he fired them at Fulcrum next to Krok.) Correct.

Fulcrum turned to Grimlock, frowning at the sorry state of the Autobot. “Poor idiot,” he said.

“Eh, the big guy’ll be just fine,” Misfire reassured, leaning over and slapping Grimlock’s thigh.

Crankcase finally arrived, the dent in his still wounded head buffed out. “Whatta want? I was busy not caring,” he growled.

“You made a promise!” Misfire shouted.

“No, Krok did,” Crankcase spat, “I never agreed to it.”

“Krok’s the captain. Krok makes the rules,” Spinister stated.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Fulcrum worried, wringing his wrists, “we should wait until–”

“Grimlock ready!” Grimlock snarled, throwing his bucket of puke across the room. He rose from his berth, flexing and releasing his giant, pressurized unit.

Fulcrum’s optics bulged from his skull. “Good God.”

Misfire clapped. “That’s the spirit!” he cheered. He also jumped from his bed. Too fast, dizziness overwhelmed his vision, and he almost crashed into his IV stand if not for Spinister catching him by the top of the head. Spinister picked Misfire off the ground, held him upright, then dropped him on his feet. Misfire thanked him with a pat on the arm. “If y'all ain’t in the mood, I’m willin’ to compromise. What say you all let me just jerk ya off while one of you refuels the ole tank?” He winked twice at Fulcrum. “The tank is my–”

“I get it,” Fulcrum interjected, hand raised.

“Well, if we’re going to…” Krok trailed off when Grimlock stood beside him, his massive unit almost bumping against his elbow. “… If we’re going to do this, we’ll need the extra stamina.”

“I’ve just the thing,” Spinister said. He walked around a few transportable screens, returning with a case of Kremzeek Zap Energy.

Misfire gawped. “Oh, man! Rea–Hey.” He squinted. This didn’t make any sense.

“Pass a can to everyone,” Krok instructed, “except Misfire and Grimlock, obviously.”

That made more sense, and yet… It didn’t?

But who was Misfire to turn down a party?

“Well,” Krok said, looking at his open can. He held it up. “Here we go.”

Fulcrum and Spinister clicked cans with Krok’s. Crankcase didn’t even bother, guzzling his down.

“I get to choose the lucky 'Con to ride!” Misfire insisted, shooting his hand up into the air.

Krok coughed after swallowing the sugary drink. “Mm, go 'head.”

Misfire looked between his comrades. “Hmmm.” He stroked his chin, tongue sticking out between clenched teeth, deep in thought. So many choices.

“Me!” Grimlock roared, pushing Fulcrum and Crankcase aside. Fulcrum spit up his drink. “Me Grimlock take challenge! Me Grimlock strongest and biggest!” He jut out his hips, once more reminding everyone in the room his giant tool was on display.

“You got a point, Grimmy!” Misfire cackled. “Just don’t tear me apart, okay?”

“Me Grimlock rough and hard, but me Grimlock have sensitive side, and understand when to be slow and gentle.”

“I am starting to feel a buzz,” Crankcase grumbled. “So let’s do this before I get bored again.”

“I’m ready,” Fulcrum said, putting down his can.

Spinister crushed his can against his forehead and nodded.

“Then let’s proceed,” Krok replied.

“Good!” Misfire pointed at the floor. “Grim, you lay on the floor. Gonna ride you down there, so I can work these guys easier.”

Grimlock beat fists against his chest and marched forward. He stretched out on the ground, erect unit pointing straight in the air. Misfire giggled at it, optics twinkling. “You guys stand around me, 'kay? Also, I needa prep.” He looked around the medbay. “Might need a little extra lube t'help me along. Sooo…”

Misfire spotted a tray of bottles. He recognized one as medicinal ointment. Another as thick oil that could easily work. And beside a small standard sized bottle of lube, Krok’s remaining can of Kremzeek Zap Energy. “Fraggin’ perfect!” he exclaimed. He rushed across the room, snatching up the can before returning to the berth. “This scrap’ll do just fine!”

Fulcrum looked nervous. “But we’re in the medbay, there’s gotta be–”

“Don’t,” Krok interrupted, touching his fretting comrade’s shoulder, “just don’t.”

Misfire sat on the edge of the berth, legs spread. He opened his panels, pleased to find he was already wet. Nice! That made things easier. “Whip 'em out and get 'em ready,” Misfire ordered, “but not too much.” He poured a copious amount of the energy drink onto his fingers. Dropping the mostly empty can, he slid two fingers along his folds, shivering at the sudden tingles.

Misfire was always about speed, but he was willing to slow down when it came to interfacing. Even self-interfacing. First he worked in just the tips of his fingers, shallow thrusts that helped to loosen his mesh walls. He rubbed his anterior node, building up a charge and swells of energy that ran up and down his backstrut.

Misfire kept one finger massaging his node while the second hooked deeper inside his channel. The Scavenger moaned, rising off the berth and curling into his hand. His probing finger went faster. After a minute, his second finger joined the first, scissoring his wet walls open and closed in between pumps. “O-Oh Primus,” he whimpered, bucking his hips. His pinkie stroked one fold, smearing lines of lubricant and energy drink. “H-Hot damn, I’m s-so awesome at t-this.” He choked on drool, forced down a swallow.

“Hurry up!” Crankcase snarled, beating himself to full erection. Watching Misfire finger himself wasn’t helping his limited patience, either.

Misfire huffed. “You broke m-my rhythm,” he grunted. He removed his fingers, dripping wet, and slid off the berth. He looked at Grimlock’s unit, licking his lips. “Pray for my channel,” he whispered to Spinister, took a shot of an energy drink conveniently nearby, and stepped forward.

As Misfire squatted just above Grimlock’s unit, Krok, Spinister, Fulcrum, and Crankcase moved around him in a closely knit circle. All of their units erect and pointed at him, some in hand and ready to stroke. Misfire snickered as he poked each of their heads. “Hmm, which’ll get my hands, and which’ll get my mouth?” he mused.

“Dibs on mouth,” Spinister said, then shrieked at Fulcrum, “ _Dibs_!”

Fulcrum grimaced. “I–I wasn’t gonna say anything!”

“I want a hand,” Crankcase insisted.

“The boss gets a hand,” Misfire said. He frowned comically at Fulcrum. “Sorry, pinhead.”

“No problem?” Fulcrum didn’t care one way or another.

“Is it happening yet?” Grimlock snarled from below.

“Just about, Grimmy!” Misfire retorted. Spinister stepped in front of Misfire, his unit close enough to brush his nose. Misfire leered, and aligned his channel with Grimlock’s unit. He slowly lowered himself. “Down subma–ahchasus!” He froze the moment Grimlock’s head pushed inside, followed by an inch of robust malleable metal, steel, and circuits. Just the head and a spare inch, and he was stuffing the Scavenger. This was probably gonna lead to another night in medbay, but fuck it. “Gimme a minute, gimme a minute…”

Misfire invented, held his breath. He wiggled down, taking another two inches, before gasping. “O-Okay, that’s i-it for now,” he said, “d-don’t thrust too hard, okay, Grim?”

Grimlock took Misfire’s hips.

Misfire grinned smugly up at Spinister. He leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the head of the medic’s unit. He lapped at the slit, and felt Spinister tremble. As he took his head, swirling his tongue beneath it, a hand grabbed the back of his helm and squeezed. Seemed fitting. Misfire closed his optics, and started suckling.

A second later, Grimlock began thrusting. Just as requested, his pumps were leisurely and easy. Misfire’s optics rolled behind closed lids, and he moaned around the unit half in his mouth. He managed to get half of the large cord inside before it breached his intakes. Not wanting to puke for the trillionth time, he stopped and slowly sucked back, dragging his lips tightly down and around Spinister. Once he reached the head, Misfire took him again, repeating the process.

“G-Good,” Spinister groaned, browplates twitching.

Misfire reached out, blindly groping the air. With a little help, Krok and Crankcase guided their units in his hands. He fumbled with them for a moment before grabbing–Crankcase by the base, Krok by the head. Once he had a tight grip on each, he started stroking, moving to the same rhythm as the unit inside his mouth, and almost perfectly with the cord thrusting deep into his channel.

Man, Spinister tasted fucking delightful. Actually, he tasted just like the Kremzeek Zap Energy drink. Made sense, Misfire supposed. He left Grimlock to do all the manhandling, giant hands encircling his hips and thighs to pull him down and push him back up. He ignored the slight strain in his joints from kneeling, but if he sat down he’d damn well be impaled.

Fulcrum was pretty vocal when it came to interfacing. Misfire could hear his noises the loudest out of the entire group. The MTO was pounding at his unit, grunting and whimpering. Crankcase’s moans sounded angry, too, unfortunately but not surprisingly. Krok was completely quiet, remaining composed as Misfire thumbed his slit.

Misfire’s throat actuators started to relax, allowing him to take one more inch of Spinister’s unit. It felt like he was deep-throating the whole thing, but he’d only taken half. Much like Grimlock. He felt kind of bad, but no one was complaining. Misfire was sure he was wide enough now that Grimlock could push in deeper, too, and go at a faster pace without ripping or hurting.

Actually, come to think of it, Grimlock’s unit was starting to feel a little different. The texture was off, and the girth not as wide. It also made weird noises whenever he clamped down, even just a little. Too busy with the units thrusting in his fingers and the cord fucking his throat, he hadn’t noticed Grimlock’s hands were missing from his sides.

Whatever the reason, Grimlock was much easier to ride now. Misfire was really getting into it, actually. He bounced up and down on the unit, and the charge thumping along with his spark grew brighter and stronger. He sucked on Spinister’s unit faster, but with less grace and thoughtfulness than before. The hand on his head was guiding him along, so it couldn’t have been too bad.

Misfire head Fulcrum gasp then go silent. He opened his optics and looked to his comrade. He was squeezing his unit, obviously in some sort of pain. Was he holding back his overload? Well, Misfire did ask him to. He winked at Fulcrum, thanking him for his patience, then looked back to Spinister. Steam was billowing from behind the medic’s maskplate, and Misfire suddenly felt very mischievous. He laughed, shooting vibrations up Spinister’s unit, rocketing into his groin. Spinister gasped, thrusting deep inside Misfire’s throat and hitting his intakes. Misfire gagged, optics swelling with coolant; he managed not to throw up, and Spinister pulled out a little.

Yeah, wasn’t a very brilliant idea.

Crankcase was starting to rut in Misfire’s hand, his noises becoming more strained and, believe it or not, actually more angry. He was getting close as well. Misfire decided to slow his strokes, just to be a tease. Not like the last time he’d teased someone nearly led to him choking on a unit, but Misfire was slow at learning important lessons. Crankcase, however, just cursed more than usual during the handjob and increased the speed by himself. Bucking his hips in a way that would be comical if it weren’t kind of sad in its desperation.

Krok, as usual, kept his cool. His optics were dim and lidded, but otherwise he was lax. Misfire bet he was chewing off his lips under that maskplate. He increased the speed, hoping to see Krok at least break a sweat. He twisted his wrist, squeezed Krok’s unit once nice and hard, and kicked the pace up a notch. Misfire immediately thought of Fulcrum the other day, struggling to dislodge the cooking rocksalt stuck in the shaker. Grumbling and whining as he violently shook it in one hand, then went to pounding on its bottom.

Misfire laughed and snorted at once, causing Spinister to jump and hit the back of his throat again. That, surprisingly, triggered the medic’s overload. Spinister made a sound–a very unique sound reserved for orgasms. A cross between a rumbling engine and a yawning bear. Misfire pulled his mouth back with a loud pop, tasting only the first few droplets of transfluid before Spinister yanked on his helm and climaxed in his face.

Misfire purred, enjoying the facial. He kept his optics closed as the warm transfluid sprayed down his face, dripping in globs from his chin. Not-Grimlock’s unit let out a crunch around his clenching channel. Misfire couldn’t help but finally look down. He only got a brief flash of the full can of Kremzeek Zap Energy he was riding when he heard Crankcase yelp. He turned his head, winced as more transfluid hit his face, streaked down his torso and along his hand.

Fulcrum wailed, unable to hold back any longer. He fell forward as he overloaded, unit hitting Misfire’s cheek and coating his helm and a wing with the sticky fluids. Misfire shivered, licking some of the fresh transfluid from his lips–

Wait. He was fucking a beverage can.

“Me Grimlock o-overloading!” Grimlock shouted from behind Misfire. Misfire almost let Krok go, twisting half-around on his knees. Grimlock was standing right in front of him now, and this time transfluid did hit him in the optics. Misfire instinctively opened his mouth, swallowing the rest of the transfluid. It ran hot and heavy down the back of his throat, and when his stained optics opened, a crooked, huge grin split his messy face.

Krok overloaded right after Grimlock finished off. Most of his transfluid hit the ground, with only some spraying on Misfire’s hand and across his knees.

“Hey, you heathen!”

Misfire’s optics widened. That voice…! He whipped back around. It was–but it couldn’t be. Flywheels was standing there, right between Fulcrum and Krok. Grinning, and in one whole piece. He held a can of the Kremzeek Zap Energy drink. And he was shaking it. Hard.

“Open up,” Flywheels sneered. He aimed the can at Misfire’s face, yanking off the tab. Misfire gasped, and for a moment, time slowed down and he relished in the spray of delicious, spark-stopping energy drink splashing across his face, down his chest, dripping off his parted lips and hooded optics and–

Misfire squealed as he finally overloaded. He clenched down on the can between his legs, hard enough to finally rupture the metal. More of the soda, fizzy and warm, filled him. A tingling, semi-burning sensation in his channel that felt more good than it had any right to be.

Misfire grinned, optics lolling back. The world spun and faded into a blur. His comrades turned into indistinguishable blobs of color. Misfire could hear his final moan before the world turned black and he collapsed into the abyss.

“Hey!”

Misfire screamed, bolting upright on the med-slab. Spinister slapped him across the face, instantly silencing him. Spinister, glaring, asked, “You okay?”

Misfire rolled his sore jaw. “Not after that,” he scowled. He dropped his hand, gazed around the medbay. Krok, Fulcrum, and Crankcase were nowhere to be seen. Grimlock sat on the berth beside him, purging into a mop bucket.

Misfire blinked. He… What?

“Gross.”

Misfire looked to Spinister, who was looking at his crotch. Misfire glanced down. His codpiece and plating had opened, transfluid dribbling from his twitching channel and depressurizing unit.

“What?” Misfire gasped. “But, hey! We were just–! What? Hey!”

Spinister held a can of the energy drink in front of Misfire’s face. He pointed to the small list of warnings beneath the ingredients.

WARNING: SIDE EFFECTS INCLUDE INCREASED SPARKPULSE, DIZZINESS, GIDDINESS, SUDDEN LOSS OF FEELING IN LIMBS, TEMPORARY FACIAL PARALYSIS, WET DREAMS, INVOLUNTARY AUTO-PILOT INDUCED STASIS, MILD COSMIC RUST

Misfire took the can. He reread the warnings.

Wet dreams.

“… Is that…?” Misfire turned to Spinister.

Spinister nodded, plucking up the can and putting it in the puke bucket next to Misfire’s slab.

Misfire sighed, disappointed and upset. “All of that… It was just a dream?” he whimpered.

“Looks like it was a good one, though,” Spinister said, handing him a rag. “You were talkin’ gibberish in stasis.” He held up two fully charged, sparking defibrillator paddles. “I was gonna give yer spark a jump start.”

Misfire tittered. “Yeah,” he said, and then he remembered his dream. He smiled, cleaning up his mess. “Yeah. It _was_ great.”


End file.
